


Walk it off

by uena



Series: The Sweetest Thing [14]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Catharsis, Character Development, Developing Relationship, Family, Fluff, Healing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 04:52:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4863836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uena/pseuds/uena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aramis takes a walk around town with Porthos and Athos. It's liberating in more than one way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princeyoungjaes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princeyoungjaes/gifts).



"If you don't want to give me a nervous headache, you get out of the kitchen right this minute." 

It's the day after the big birthday party; Giselle and Melinda have gone home, and Hannah is out to meet some friends. Thus Aramis is the only one of Erica's progeny currently remaining to her, but apparently the novelty of having him home has worn off. She looks calm enough, she even smiles, but Aramis doesn't doubt the truth of her words. She never could abide having anyone around while she was cooking. 

If Tony wasn't out to take care of his congregation she could saddle him with entertaining the guests, but he is, and she can't, and Aramis grins at her. "You know we would help if you'd let us." 

"I don't doubt it," she replies, and her smile widens. "Wouldn't improve matters though. Take your boys around town while I prepare dinner – show them the sights." 

"There are no sights," Aramis deadpans; still he gets up from his chair and draws his mother into a quick hug. "But then again I haven't really been out and about yet – maybe they've built some in the last few years." 

She pats his back and brushes a kiss to his cheek, and then she shoos them out of the kitchen, makes Porthos laugh when she swats his butt with a dishtowel. Athos isn't even allowed to finish his coffee. "Out now! Enjoy the sun while you still can!" 

It is indeed a beautiful summer day, a little too hot maybe, but Aramis never had any problem with that. Athos does. 

"You can take a shower when we get back," Aramis promises, and pulls him and Porthos along the shady side of the sidewalk. "But we really need to get out of Mom's hair." 

"We could have relocated to the living room," Athos argues, but he comes willingly enough. 

Aramis smiles at him. "Yes, but I want to show you around … or rather myself." 

He falls silent, and looks up and down the street as if he's seeing the town for the first time. In a way he does. He was too nervous and afraid to take in the changes when they arrived; it felt too much like walking into a trap. But now the whole town has heard what his father had to say about Andy. His father's words took a weight so immense off Aramis' chest that he feels different than before – not only lighter but _adjusted_. Looking at the world from a slightly different angle. 

So he holds his face into the sun and leads Athos and Porthos in the direction of the town's centre, towards the little shops and cafes and the plaza with its magnificent fountain. He wants to show them his father's church too – has missed the solemn dignity of the building a lot in the last few years. He's looking forward to setting foot in it again. 

"You're perky today," Porthos rumbles beside him, and Aramis flushes, looks down at the paved path for a moment. 

"I feel safer now, if that makes any sense." The words come over his lips before he can make sure they're ready for public consumption. So he bites down on those lips, closes his eyes and lets out a shaky laugh. Apparently his father's words couldn't rid him of his detestable habit to blurt out and then doubt every passing thought. 

"It makes perfect sense," Porthos rumbles, his voice soothing and calm. "I like you perky. It's cute." 

Aramis looks up at him then, gratefulness expanding in his chest quickly enough to make him dizzy. Porthos is smiling, warm and fond, and before Aramis can stop himself he's stepped in front of him, has lifted his chin and brushed a kiss to Porthos' mouth. Porthos' arms come up to hold him, pull him closer against his body, and they kiss until Athos' voice reminds them of his presence. "How you can do that in this heat is beyond me." 

He sounds so very unimpressed that it makes Porthos chuckle into their kiss, and they part, both rather lightheaded and unsteady in the afternoon sun. 

"Come along," Aramis says, directing a apologetic grin at Athos. "I want to show you the fountain." 

"Oh, I like that," Porthos exclaims, and takes Aramis' hand. "Lead the way!" 

Aramis squeezes his hand and resumes walking, with Porthos to his right and Athos to his left, feeling more at home in this town than he did the last six years of him still living here. It's a small town of not quite five thousand souls, and if any major changes occurred in the years since he moved away, Aramis hasn't spotted them yet. It's still comfortable and cosy, with the obligatory white picket fences here and there, and a surprising number of golden retrievers out on the immaculate lawns. Aramis remembers Josef Berger's friendly pair of dogs and can only assume that their offspring has infiltrated the town and is preparing a peaceful takeover, one puppy at a time. 

Trees line the streets and flowers adorn the sidewalks, and Aramis relaxes so thoroughly that he'd be in grave danger of melting if it wasn't for Porthos' hold on his hand. It keeps him focused, that hand, keeps him alert and vigilant – in a happy, trusting way that was completely out of the question yesterday, and all the days before. 

"I like it here," Porthos proclaims when they reach the plaza and it's fountain, shooting jets of water high up into the air. "As far as I'm concerned we can visit more often – as long as I don't have to drive the tank again." 

Athos huffs. "Next time you will organize the car, and I will stay at home." 

Aramis knows he's teasing, so he doesn't hesitate to let him have the full force of his wounded puppy-eyes. "Don't you like it here, Athos?" 

"Oh my god," is all Athos has to say to that. 

Porthos chuckles approvingly. "Well done." 

"I hate you both," Athos states flatly. 

"You keep saying that," Porthos muses with a slight pout, "but I don't think you actually know the meaning of the word. You're confusin' loathin' with lovin' again." 

"I'm really not," Athos insists. 

"I want ice-cream," is Aramis' contribution to the conversation. 

"But your Mom's makin' dinner," Porthos argues – Aramis isn't listening. Aramis is already skipping away to the ice-cream parlour on the south end of the plaza. He's delighted when he sees that old Mr Marconi is behind the counter, and beams at him the same way he did when he was five and the man gave him ice-cream for free. 

"Aramis!" Marconi exclaims, his beady little eyes lighting up with glee. "How nice of you to come visit me - I didn't get a chance to say hello to you yesterday." Aramis flushes and bites his lip, and that's when Athos and Porthos step up behind him, left and right. "And here is your entourage," the old man observes, sounding weirdly satisfied. "What can I do for you?" 

"Chocolate," Athos says, "if I remember correctly." 

"Yeah, and hazelnut," Porthos offers, putting his hand on the small of Aramis' back, warm and steady. 

"You know what's good," Marconi says, picks up the biggest waffle there is, and fills it with chocolate and hazelnut ice-cream until it couldn't possibly hold anymore. "That's on the house," he says, sticking three little plastic spoons into it and handing it to Aramis. "Welcome home." 

Just like that, Aramis feels precariously close to crying. The good kind.


	2. Chapter 2

They share the ice-cream by the fountain, sit down on its rim and hand the waffle around until nothing's left. 

"This is good stuff," Porthos proclaims, munching on the last bite, while Aramis is busy licking his lips to chase the lingering taste of hazelnut. 

Meanwhile Athos sits perfectly still, eyes closed, and tries to pretend the sun isn't real. "Can we walk on now?" 

Aramis and Porthos look at each other. Then Porthos leans back, slowly, as to not alert Athos to his intent. He reaches out to the fountain and its endless cascade, and brings his arm around in a perfect arc of glistening water that manages to hit Athos pretty much all over. 

"Thank you," is all Athos has to say to that attack. "I feel much better now." He opens his eyes and gets up, and before either Aramis or Porthos can gauge his plan, he has grabbed Porthos by the knees and thrown him backwards into the fountain. 

Aramis gapes at him. Athos shrugs his shoulders at him. "That was overdue, don't you think?" 

Porthos comes up spluttering and laughing, his white t-shirt clinging to him in a way that makes Aramis want to join him, for obvious and not so obvious reasons. He watches him climb out, mesmerized by the way water drops glisten in Porthos' hair, and fully expects him to exact the most terrible form of revenge. He doesn't. All he does is step up to Athos, very peacefully, and lean in to place a very precise kiss on Athos' forehead. "I deserved that." 

"Yes, you did," Athos replies smoothly. 

"At least my shoes stayed dry," Porthos observes happily. 

The rest of him did not. He's dripping water everywhere. "Thank god it's so hot." 

Athos glares at him. "You take that back immediately." 

"I won't." 

"I cannot possibly take you to church like this," Aramis realizes. 

Both Athos and Porthos turn to look at him. 

"Now what could we've possibly done," Porthos says, deceptively bewildered, "to instil the need to take us to church in you?" 

The corners of Athos' mouth twitch, and so do Aramis', but he manages to preserve a sober countenance. "You're not funny." 

"Yes, I am." 

"I shall have to take you to church tomorrow," Aramis says austerely. 

"Only if Athos refrains from pushing me into bodies of water. He can be very unpredictable." 

"He will also get a sunburn if we keep standing around for much longer," Athos threatens with one of his sharper drawls. 

Aramis immediately pulls him along, off the plaza and back home via the scenic route – or at least what he thinks the scenic route was, back in the day. Some parts of the town certainly look a little different than he remembers them – the houses a little older, the hedges thicker, the pathways worn with regular use. There are new trees and garages, and the playground by the elementary school definitely enjoyed a complete overhaul. 

"That swing looks positively futuristic," Porthos says. "I've no idea how they did that – there's nothin' more basic than a swing." 

They agree that the swing looks weird, and move on, Porthos' clothes drying in the summer sun. Aramis feels amazing, happy and loose in a way he'd almost forgotten how to be. He stops at random intervals to kiss Porthos, Athos humouring them with increasingly beleaguered sighs, and it's only when, during one of those kisses, Athos lets out an unexpectedly antagonistic growl, that Aramis realizes where they are. 

They are in Mill Street. Andy lives in Mill Street. 

"You have some nerve," Aramis hears him say, and hastily parts from Porthos, his cheeks burning with a mixture of shame and hot, flaming panic. "It's bad enough that you convinced your Father of being the victim in all this, but to actually parade your lovers around town like you aren't the same easy slut you've always -" 

"You better shut up as long as you still can," Porthos interrupts him with a growl. 

Aramis feels weird. Normally, Andy's words would make him nauseous. They would bring tears to his eyes and make it hard to breathe. 

"Ah, yes," Andy says. "Threatening violence. I'm not surprised. Aramis clearly didn't pick you for your brains." 

"You do not," Aramis hears himself say, "talk to him like that." 

Time freezes. Aramis has never talked back at Andy. Ever. He has always agreed with him, on everything, if not in words then by remaining guilt stricken and silent. It takes Andy a moment to digest this sudden mutiny. 

"They fucked some nerve into you, did they?" he rallies, and that's when Aramis sees him for who and what he is, for the very first time in his life. That's also when Athos' throat produces a very quiet noise of such utter fury that it doesn't really surprise Aramis when he lashes out and treats Andy to one of the most singularly beautiful sucker-punches Aramis has ever seen. It certainly surprises Andy. He goes down like a – well, like a man who just got punched in the face. 

"Whoa!" Porthos exclaims, pulling Athos off the stricken asshole before he can inflict any more damage – something Athos seems very intent on. 

"Let go of me," he hisses, undulating in Porthos' arms like a boa-constrictor planning to eat him whole as soon as it's freed itself. "Didn't you hear what -" 

"I heard," Porthos says, carrying him off and away from the scene of the crime like you would a naughty puppy, "and that was beautiful, it really was, but we don't kill people, Athos – you know we don't." 

"We could make an exception for him!" Athos growls viciously. 

Aramis feels like laughing. He also feels like crying – like he did when Mr Marconi gave him the ice-cream for free. It's a very complex emotion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That felt really good.


End file.
